


Hold Me(Love Me)

by wtsnhlms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Insecure Sherlock, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Making Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a lil bit of praise kink, soft john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtsnhlms/pseuds/wtsnhlms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>John doesn't rush, letting Sherlock's body slowly open to let him in. He wants to give Sherlock this, give him pleasure, and surround him with love, so much love.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me(Love Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IMakeMyselfLol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMakeMyselfLol/gifts).



> My first attempt at smut. All I wanted was loving John and a needy Sherlock, so tadaaa! Happy birthday love, hope you like this one ;)
> 
> Everlasting thanks to [Addi](http://www.addignisherlock.tumblr.com) dear for beta'ing ;)

“Oh, Sherlock. Don't think about it anymore, alright, love? Harry was a downright twit, and she still is.”

“But what she said was all true, John,” Sherlock mumbles from his corner on the sofa, curled up on himself. “I've only ever brought misery to you.”

“Now hold on a minute.” John pushes himself out of his chair and settles behind the detective, perching on the edge of the sofa, running his hair through that mess of riotous curls. “Look at me, and tell me you believed that.”

He pokes and prods until Sherlock huffs a heavy defeated sigh and twists to face John. His eyes are red and his nose sniffles. He drops his gaze. “I've done you so much wrong, and yet you choose to be with me. Why?”

“Hey. Sherlock,” John drops a kiss atop the detective’s nose. “My love. Do you really want to know?”

John's voice is soft, filled with the unknown. His eyes are a deep blue abyss; they tell the story of a man thrust into adulthood all too soon. His hands, where they lightly touch Sherlock's, are roughened. These tell the tales of lives taken and countless more lives saved. On the outside, John is unassuming. On the inside, he is an enigma. Sherlock could never truly understand him. 

John is extraordinary. He is patient, and kind, and the strongest man Sherlock knows. He does not love easily-- to gain his full trust is a privilege in itself. For all that Sherlock is, he still cannot comprehend why John has chosen to love him. John Watson loves Sherlock Holmes fiercely and irrevocably. 

Sherlock raises his gaze to settle on John's. The world stops spinning. He nods, almost imperceptibly. 

John smiles that smile reserved for Sherlock, and Sherlock alone. He tightens his hold on the younger man. He takes a deep breath. 

John speaks the words that shake Sherlock's very core. 

“Good. Come to bed with me, and I'll tell you.”

He stands, pulling Sherlock up with him until they stand facing each other. His hands come up to caress the familiar cheekbones, sweep aside the curls that will soon require a haircut; his thumbs come to rest lightly on closed eyelids. 

“I love you,” John breathes. 

He watches as Sherlock opens his eyes, those steel blue-green-gray eyes shining bright in the light of dusk streaming through the windows of 221B. 

“As I love you,” Sherlock says, tilting his head downwards to press his lips tentatively to John's. It is light, and loving, and John brings a hand to behind Sherlock's head to clasp the base of that long neck, fingers roaming upward to twist themselves in the soft curls there, nudging just slightly to increase the pressure of their kiss.

It is just like the very first time they locked lips, the two of them, following a exhilarating chase through the streets of London. It was on a particularly boring evening in the autumn, John recalls, when the two of them were simply staring at the other, faces alight with wide toothy grins that threatened to collapse into uncharacteristic giggles. John had stepped forward into Sherlock's personal space when he had noticed a trail of blood making itself known on the taller man’s temple. 

“It's just a scratch, it's nothing,” the consulting detective had reassured, grasping John's wrist where it was about to examine the injury. “Scratch or not, let me take care of you,” John had whispered, but it was the _something_ that he had seen reflected in Sherlock's eyes that had made him pray to the gods above for luck, and thus had brought his lips to brush against the other man's, much to both of their shock, and evidently, relief. 

They didn't talk much about it after, but for the following weeks, Sherlock had let John in, bit by bit. They shared chaste, shy kisses on the couch, during breakfast, in the corridor outside Mrs Hudson’s flat. They were kisses, nothing more, though each kiss grew more heated than the last. They hadn't gone much further than that; John didn't think Sherlock could handle too much too soon and he didn't want to scare the younger man away.  
But it is in the here and now, with Sherlock finally, _finally_ kissing John with just a hint of desperation, and obvious interest that John takes a moment to think, “ _I'm ready if you are._ ”

“Sherlock?” John cuts in, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against the other man’s, both taking the opportunity to get their breathing back under control. “Are you okay with this?” he emphasises with a cursory brush of his hand to Sherlock's sacrum. Not quite there, but it is enough of a tease. 

Sherlock's breath hitches, however his body remains relaxed and almost thrumming with expectation in John's embrace. He shifts his face closer to quite literally nuzzle his nose alongside John’s, turning the shorter man's limbs to jelly. If John didn't know any better, he'd think the small steady noise escaping from between Sherlock's glorious lips is one of _purring_. Adoration blooms anew in his chest, creeping up his throat, threatening to choke him. John squeezes his eyes shut. He needs to get a grip, he thinks.

Sherlock draws back once again to answer him. “I've never been more sure in my life. John, I've never been more sure of _you_.” 

“Okay.. okay.” John gives two small stuttering nods. He knows that he has to take this slow, that taking care of Sherlock is his top priority. He has been hinted here and there that Sherlock has close to nil experience in intimate relations, let alone romantic attachments with anyone else, and that if he and John were to do _this_ , it is only at Sherlock's explicit consent. Having had his fair share of intimate relationships with a few partners, John is quick to admit that none of them made him feel the same as how he feels for the man in his arms now. 

Sherlock deserves all the love and attention John vows to bestow upon him this night, and certainly, for the rest of their lives together. He brings their lips together again, reaching blindly to link their hands before walking himself backwards to lead Sherlock to his bedroom. 

As they cross the threshold, John pauses to close the door behind them. Turning back to Sherlock, he gives a reassuring smile and squeeze to the long fingers wrapped in his own. He stares at those cat-like eyes. They radiate trust, and utmost love that John gets his breath taken away once more. Sherlock is beautiful in the encroaching moonlight, and he cannot begin to imagine the same man as he will be in a few moments, except fully undressed. 

Stepping forward, he smoothes his hands from the tops of his shoulders to his elbows. Keeping his hands cupped there, he starts slow, leaning forward to brush his lips on the hollow of that pale, long throat. A tiny gasp escapes the mouth above him. He pulls on those elbows, and getting the hint, Sherlock places his hands on John's hips. Encouraged by this, John moves his lips from one collarbone to the other, revelling in the increased heartbeat he spots at Sherlock's pulse point. 

He tilts his head just right, places his mouth on that patch of skin, and very, very lightly, presses his tongue just _there_ , leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“ _Oh g--!_ ” the taller man cuts off a deep moan he obviously did not mean to voice, and the hands on John's hips tighten their grip. 

“It's alright, let me hear you,” John soothes. “If it ever feels like it's too much, let me know, okay love?”

“O-okay. Keep going.”

Certain that Sherlock is alright with his current pacing, John continues his ministrations, laving wet kisses on both sides of that long neck, occasionally brushing his lips on the strong line of that jaw and eventually covering Sherlock's mouth with his own. This time however, he introduces his tongue into the equation, his tongue darting out to press between those full lips, seeking permission. With a sigh, Sherlock gives in and parts his lips to allow John to explore his mouth. 

John is a very good kisser, as testified by his previous lovers. He knows how much to put into a kiss -- never too much tongue or biting. However at the first touch of Sherlock's tongue to his own, John has to restrain himself from plundering the wet, inviting heat of Sherlock's mouth. Instead he whimpers -- a sound he very rarely makes, admittedly -- and moves his hands to the hem of Sherlock's pyjama shirt. 

Their tongues danced, licking and teeth lightly nipping at each other's bottom lips. Sherlock has at this point taken well to the art of kissing -- “Well I do have an _excellent_ teacher, John!” -- and as the minutes pass, they are both getting dizzy with the need for air. The detective breaks away first. His eyes are blown, his lips reddened and there is a telltale flush to his cheeks. 

_God, how lucky am I,_ John grins inwardly. _I'm the only one who gets to see him like this._

He walks them backwards until Sherlock's knees hit the edge of the bed. He places one more kiss on that cupid’s bow before positioning a hand at the small of Sherlock's back, the other at the base of his neck, and tenderly laying him on the bed. His heart rate picks up a notch when he pulls back and sees the man laid out like a piece of dessert meant to be ravished -- curls splayed in every direction and a deep blush creeping up from under that shirt collar. 

“Hurry up and undress me, John,” Sherlock rumbles, eyes suddenly gone almost predatory. The sexual tension in the room is almost painful now, and John lets the effect of hearing that deep voice pool in his groin as he pushes Sherlock's shirt up and off. Sherlock does not hesitate to pull down his pyjama bottoms, too, until there he is, naked on the bed in nothing but those sinful silken black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. 

John swallows around the sudden influx of saliva pooling in his mouth. He has seen his flatmate in various states of undress around the flat in the years they've lived together, but it is something else entirely when said flatmate is undressed _on a bed._

“Fuck, Sherlock, you're _gorgeous_ ,” he stutters.

Slowly but surely, he edges forward to position his knees on either side of Sherlock's thighs, not quite straddling him yet, and proceeds to turn his attention to the pale chest in front of him. He lowers himself to his elbows, caging Sherlock in. Keeping himself steady, John kisses his lover once more before trailing open-mouthed kisses down that long expense of neck, across the hollow of the throat and onto that broad chest. His mouth hovers over one pert, pink nipple, his warm breath ghosting over it. John glances up to catch Sherlock's gaze before he closes his lips around the circle of flesh and sucks _hard_.

John hears a sharp intake of breath above him before Sherlock’s hand is suddenly there, quite literally holding John's head to his chest as he thrusts his hips reflexively upwards to meet John's, both moaning and hissing at the contact. John's pants is now getting uncomfortably tight, and having felt Sherlock's arousal pressed into his groin, he starts to rut bit by bit against the other man, though still fully dressed, whimpering against the hardening nub caught in between his lips. 

Sherlock is still moaning softly, his hands now grasping at John's shoulders and back. John on the other hand, is alternating between lightly nipping at the hard nub and swirling his tongue around it, one hand caught between Sherlock's body and the mattress and the other grasping a bony hip. He grants the same treatment to the other nipple, delighting in the way he leaves them glistening and flushed pink in oversensitivity. 

A hand reaches out to pull John back to eye level with Sherlock. “John, John, _John_ ,” the curly-haired wonder says, bringing their lips together with increasing need. “You're wearing too many clothes.”

“Ah yes, won't be a moment,” John giggles, straightening his torso and sitting low on Sherlock's thighs. He pulls off his jumper and button down, flinging them in the general direction of the floor. As he gets to work on the button and fly of his jeans, a cursory glance back at Sherlock's face only makes him speed up, shifting his legs to get his pants off as well. 

Oh. 

Sherlock flushes deeper than John thought possible. He brings John’s hands to the waistband of his boxer briefs, and with a trusting nod, the same hands rid Sherlock of his pants until they are both bare, in all aspects, to the other. 

John is entranced. Splayed out, his lover is all sharp angles and alabaster skin. His limbs seemingly go on for miles. There is a crimson flush from the top of Sherlock's flat abdomen all the way to his neck and his lips were swollen, plump from their thorough kissing. His hair perfectly contrasts the rest of him; dark against an ivory landscape and even whiter bedsheets. His ribs and hips are all bone but John spots plenty of curves too -- courtesy of that arse that should be illegal and strong calves and even stronger pectoral muscles. 

John shifts focus from the light dusting of dark hair on Sherlock's chest to the trail of hair from Sherlock's navel leading downwards to a fine nest of curls. Sherlock's cock is fully hard, the foreskin retracted, the rest flushed and leaking; in fact is it just like the rest of that pale body -- long and slender. 

“Oh Sherlock… the way you look right now,” John says, taking the opportunity to run his eyes over every inch of the long, lithe body presented to him. “You're brilliant, you're out of this world.” He resumes kissing Sherlock who is now blushing furiously. 

_Fantastic_ , John thinks. “What do you want, love?”

“You, just you,” Sherlock groans, making a point to deliberately undulate his lower body against John's, shocks of pleasure shooting down their spines as their erections slid together. The pre-come they have both been leaking eased the friction somewhat but nonetheless John enquires as to where he might find some lube. The detective twists around to slide his hand between the bed frame and the mattress, producing a half empty bottle, shoving it into John's hands. 

He squeezes a dollop of lube onto his palm. Hand hovering in between their slick bodies, John takes a moment to take stock of Sherlock's shivering body and the hands that don't quite seem to know where to go. 

“Sherlock.. You alright?” he whispers, his other hand coming up up to brush aside the hair plastered to Sherlock's sweat-dampened forehead. Inching forward, he plants a kiss, two, three above Sherlock's brow, on one sharp cheekbone to the corner of that cupid’s bow lips. 

His lover nods repeatedly and pulls John's head down to press his mouth close to the shell of John's left ear and whisper, “ _please_ , John. Don't stop.”

John couldn't be sure but he thinks there's a “- _loving me_ ” that went unsaid at the end of Sherlock's plea and that he was not just asking to resume their lovemaking. Their coupling is not just about pleasure; it is only a physical testament to how well they fit as a unit and is a way for John to show Sherlock how much he is desired, wanted and needed - - _loved_. He smoothes his hand down Sherlock's chest and his taut abdomen to wrap around both of their lengths, giving one leisurely stroke from the root to the tip. Both men groan decadently, Sherlock pushing his hips forward instinctively through the circle of John's hand. 

“Oh fuck, Sherlock,” John voices, following suit, both men now thrusting at a steady pace. “You're perfect, look at you. I love you so much.”

Sherlock can only keen in response, eyes scrunched tight, his arms now circling John's torso to grasp at his back. He claws hard at the skin, leaving unmistakeable angry red marks, but the intense pleasure that John feels right now wonderfully overrides the stinging in his back. He pushes forward to press their lips together once more, teeth now biting lower lips and tongues seeking entrance. 

Their thrusting has now increased speed, and John can feel himself hurtling towards the precipice, he is almost there, right at the very edge. Sherlock is moaning little “ _ah, ah, ah_ ”s with each push of his hips but then his eyes slowly blink open, and he locks eyes with John. What John sees there makes him still his hips in worry. 

“ _John._ ”

“Sherlock? Are you ok?” John gasps, feeling himself lose the high of an impending orgasm. He refuses to put himself first if Sherlock is uncomfortable at any point of time during their lovemaking, so he quashes the tiny ounce of frustration that makes itself known. He removes his hand from down below. 

“No, no, I'm fine,” Sherlock rasps out. “It's just…”

“Anything you want, Sherlock, you only have to say it.”

“It's just.. I wanted our first time to be more special. I pictured you..uh.. inside me,” Sherlock stutters out, cheeks flushed in exertion and now, embarrassment. John stares at him for a moment or two before his face crumples, breaking into unrestrained giggles, his head dropping to rest atop Sherlock's chest. 

“John!” Sherlock whines, pouting and trying to wriggle his way out of John's grasp. 

“Wait, wait, Sherlock - where are you going? I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” he holds tight to those narrow hips. “I wasn't making fun of you, alright, it's just.. You're _adorable_ , you know that?” John teases, trying his best to kiss that pout away while he caresses a sharp cheekbone. Sherlock stops wriggling, and lays back against the pillows once more, but he refuses to let John kiss him properly. 

The army doctor notices this and takes a moment to mentally chide himself for apparently having reacted wrongly to Sherlock's spoken desire. He could feel the arousal dissipating and tension rising anew in the air. Desperate to rectify the situation before Sherlock gets too upset, or even worse, get out of the bed and refuse to let John touch him for the rest of the night, he resorts to desperate measures. 

Sitting back on his heels with his knees on the bed between both of Sherlock's, John flexes backwards to grab ahold of the detective's ankles. Once he is certain that the detective is not at risk of flight, he reaches his fingers further back to brush the tips very, very lightly on the surface of each foot, watching Sherlock's face as he does so. On the third sweep of his fingers, Sherlock's mouth twists into a tight line and his eyebrows furrow. On the tenth sweep, that nose crinkle John loves makes itself known. 

Applying the same amount of teasing, John lets his hands roam upwards to Sherlock's knee. The lightly furred thighs twitch in response and as the fingers dip into the hollows of the back of the knees to lightly circle the skin, John looks up just in time to see Sherlock's mouth twitch. _Aha_ , he thinks. 

Carefully now, John arranges himself on the bed, lying on the side of his good shoulder. He pulls Sherlock to face him, the detective still sporting a look of uncertainty on his face; vulnerable yet trusting John to make the next move. 

John pulls Sherlock to him at the same time he shuffles his body closer, until the two of them are pressed from head to toe. He extends his left hand to brush over the curve of that sensuous body, from just below the buttock to the nape of Sherlock's neck, where he proceeds to mimic the actions from before. Round and round the fingers go, paying particular attention to the hairline where he knows Sherlock is most ticklish. His thumb caresses the skin just behind the outer shell of the ear, and before long, Sherlock’s tight facial expression breaks formation to crack into a wide, adoring smile. 

The smile that genuinely reaches his eyes, that tells John everything will be _alright_. The smile that no one else gets to ever see because it is reserved for John, and John alone. This much John has deduced on his own, not needing to mention it to Sherlock because it is that smile that flays Sherlock open and exposes him for the human being that he is -- one who desires to be loved and in return, loves fiercely and with all his being. 

“There you are, I missed you,” John whispers, leaning forward. This time Sherlock relents, licking and tasting his way into John's mouth, both men content to be sharing each other's breath, to bask in each other's presence like a welcome oasis in an unforgiving desert. John voices his relief in a loud sigh that he lets bleed into the warm mouth covering his own. Not breaking the kiss, he reaches down and pulls Sherlock’s right leg up and over John’s hip, slotting his own left leg in between Sherlock’s. His thigh is pressing directly on Sherlock’s cock, now only half-hard from the earlier pause in proceedings. Adjusting a little more, he gasps when a tentative thrust of the hips from Sherlock catches him by surprise, rubbing Sherlock’s heavy testicles in a delicious friction against his skin. 

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, there you go, just--” he prompts, pushing his right hand between Sherlock’s torso and the mattress to come up the other side and together with his left, unabashedly grabs those two pale perfect specimens of arse and _pulls_ , over and over, waiting for Sherlock to catch up, and when his lover starts rutting against John’s thigh on his own, John lets go, holds tight to those bony hips and slots his face under Sherlock’s to press his nose into sweaty skin and inhale the sweet, slightly spicy, musky scent that is unmistakably _Sherlock_. 

He showers kiss after kiss on the expanse of chest and collarbone, taking in the unrestrained sounds of need and pleasure coming from above him. He feels his cock take interest once more in the proceedings, hardening rapidly. Pinned down by the detective’s longer torso, John ignores his erection for the time being, as painful as it is, just so he can let Sherlock take control of his pleasure and not be overwhelmed by too many sensations before he is ready for more. He snaps back to full attention when he hears the familiar baritone moaning for him. “Oh, oh god, Sherlock, that’s it, you’re doing _amazing_ , I love you so much, you brilliant, brilliant man.”

The moans switch to whimpers, and keening that are steadily increasing in pitch, and it is now very warm where Sherlock is rubbing himself hard against John’s thigh, and he needs more, he wants more _right now_ \--

“John, I need.. I need, please, it _hurts_!” Sherlock groans, pressing his face into John’s short blonde hair, muffling his noises that by now are tumbling out of his mouth in a constant litany.

“Yeah, I’ve got you, Sherlock, don’t worry, I’m here, I’ve got you,” John gasps, hand reaching behind him to locate the bottle of lube. He finds it, single-handedly flicking the cap open and inverting the bottle just enough to squeeze enough onto his open palm. He throws the bottle into the shadow of the bed behind Sherlock, and somehow manages to warm up the lube. John brings this hand downwards steadily towards Sherlock’s arse, insinuating his fingers in the warm, warm crease between the two cheeks and further down to glance over Sherlock’s entrance and to the perineum. The man in his arms lets out a full body shudder and moans loud enough that it almost sets John off like a rocket.

Encouraged by this, John rubs the tips of his middle three fingers along the sensitive skin of the perineum, from just below the wrinkled skin of Sherlock's balls to the edge of the furled rim of his entrance. Back and forth he goes, applying a gentle pressure on the skin at random intervals while Sherlock continues pushing forwards to press his hard length against John's thigh and backwards against John's hand to seek out more of those teasing touches. 

“John, mmph, get on with it..” Sherlock moans, turning his head to press his flushed face into the pillows underneath them. “Bossy,”, John chuckles, finally settling his fingers on the rim of Sherlock's entrance. He massages the whorl of skin, coaxing the muscles to relax. After about a minute or so, he strains upwards to kiss Sherlock's temple. 

“Ready?” he asks. The mop of curls mumbles an affirmative into the pillow. “Relax for me, love,” he instructs, pushing his middle finger in to broach the first ring of muscle. Sherlock keens some more, his hands running all over John's back, grabbing at his shoulders as the sensations wash over him. He starts puffing short, shallow breaths, and before long, John inserts his forefinger into that tight hole, scissoring his fingers to stretch and loosen the passage. 

Sherlock is clenching down on the intrusion into his body, and John can do nothing more than bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out at the feeling of arousal that is threatening to pull him down under. His forefinger unerringly brushes over the bundle of nerves deep inside Sherlock, and the detective _yelps_ , body jerking as he shouts aloud, “fuck! Oh god! Joh--”

“Almost there,” John promises, kissing Sherlock long and hard, sucking on his bottom lip and bringing his mouth around to nip on Sherlock's earlobe and then making his way down the strong line of that jaw to press a firm kiss on the freckle near the base of that pale, sensuous throat. 

Did John mention that he loves Sherlock's freckles? He'd like to kiss every single one of them one day. 

Sherlock is panting now, fucking himself on John's fingers, and still he’s asking for more, and John relents, inserting another finger alongside the first two. The stretch must be getting to Sherlock now, the taller man blowing harshly through the nose, eyes squeezed shut and holding on tightly to John's back. 

“Breathe for me Sherlock, mmm, that's it, you're doing beautifully, love.” John murmurs. He is rocking his lower body against Sherlock's more insistently now, his erection throbbing like never before, seeking out more warmth and contact with the willing body entwined with his. His nerves are alight with anticipation, that finally, _finally_ , he and Sherlock are about to do this, finally they will be bound to one another, each belonging to the other in every way they could possibly be. 

They are each other's better half, each other's best friend. Partners for life, essentially, in every sense of the word.

“I'm ready,” Sherlock says. 

John gulps hard, giving a sharp nod and rewards his lover with a deep, searing kiss as he removes his fingers. Sherlock automatically removes his leg from atop John's hip and shifts onto his back on the bed, pulling John along until he is kneeling between Sherlock’s legs. “I want to do it like this. I want to see you,” Sherlock pleads. His eyes are blown, irises dilated to the point of black and nothing else. Lips bite-swollen, glorious curls plastered to his forehead and his mouth -- _god, that mouth will be the death of him one day_ \-- which John proceeds to worship a little more. “God, yes,” John moans, smoothing his hands down the sides of Sherlock's ribs. 

He doesn't realise Sherlock has moved until two long legs come to rest on the top of John's arse and a large hand has wrapped itself around John's quivering length, slick with lube. Two pulls, then three, the hand evenly coating the length before Sherlock is wriggling his arse, and pushing at John's elbows, coaxing him into position. John grabs the base of his length, the head of it nudging at the loosened rim of Sherlock's entrance. One last silent affirmation with his lover's eyes is all he needs before he is pushing forwards, easing himself into Sherlock's body. 

“Oh my god, _John!_ ”

“Fuck, _Sherlock_ -”

“Keep going, please, _oh!_ ”

“You're incredible, bear down for me, yeah, that's it love-”

John doesn't rush, letting Sherlock's body slowly open to let him in. He wants to give Sherlock this, give him pleasure, and surround him with love, so much love. 

John is fully seated now, and both men are as still as they can be, still coming to terms with what is happening, both basking in the love radiating from the other, both overwhelmed with so much need and also disbelief that they have made it to this point, that they are joined, they have filled the gap in their hearts and that certainly one cannot possibly live without the other. 

They lock lips, the kiss soft and languid, sucking hard on bottom lips, tongues caressing teeth and caressing each other. Sherlock sighs into the kiss, and he stares into John's gaze as they pull apart. John grins, then, delighting in knowing that the one unbelievable thing in the world right now is that Sherlock Holmes has chosen him, John Watson. It is the two of them against the rest of the world, after all. 

“Move,” Sherlock whines. 

John's arms, supporting his weight, start to tremble, so he lowers himself to press his body with Sherlock's from the chest downwards. He gives a small roll of his hips, delighting in the moan that erupts from the detective's mouth. Sliding a forearm underneath Sherlock's head and the other caressing Sherlock's face, John pulls out halfway before thrusting back in, trying his hardest to rein himself in and not come too fast, wound up tight as he already is. 

Sherlock's erection is trapped between their bodies, and John feels it it twitch and slick their bellies with pre-ejaculate. He picks up the pace now, adjusting the angle just so, aiming directly at Sherlock's prostate. “ _Ah!_ ” Sherlock all but screams, the sounds of skin slapping on skin filling the heated bedroom air.

The body below John is almost at bursting point, he feels it in the way the legs wrapped around him tighten their grip and Sherlock's chest is heaving. 

“Fuck, Sherlock, you're _so_ beautiful like this, you're doing great, you gorgeous thing,” John kisses him, and kisses him. 

He latches onto a pale collarbone with his mouth, sucking hard, bringing blood to the surface and soothing it with his tongue. He does the same higher up at Sherlock's neck. God knows how long John has wanted to do that, to leave his mark on Sherlock and announce to the world that the detective is taken. 

“Joooohnn!”

Sherlock seems to have lost all sense of talking as all he lets out at this point are moans and whines. John can only laugh softly at this, smoothing down Sherlock's curls, steadily driving into him with every thrust. He is close. 

He kisses all over Sherlock's sternum before focusing on the rosy pink buds, sucking hard on each and rolling them a little between his teeth. Sherlock writhes, trying his utmost to push back to meet John's every thrust. His moaning does not stop, and he lifts an arm to push against the headboard to steady them as John speeds up, chasing his release. 

“John, I'm close, harder, _please_ -” he keens, gripping John's upper torso flush to his, fingertips digging into the skin below John's shoulder scar. The bed is creaking noisily, and boy is John glad Mrs Hudson is out because the old lady's heart can not possibly handle all the noises bleeding through her ceiling wall, and so he drives his hips forwards harder, and harder still. 

“John, John, John, I'm yours, _yours_ ,” Sherlock whines, pushing up to hide his face in the juncture where John's shoulder and neck meet. “Oh god, I'm-!”

“That's it, come for me,” John encourages. He snakes a hand between them to circle around Sherlock's length and gives it firm, quick strokes, feeling it swell even more under his attentions. 

_Thrust._

“I've got you,”

 _Thrust._

“Sherlock,”

 _Thrust._

“God I-”

 _Thrust._

“-love you-”

_Thrust._

“-so-”

 _Thrust._

“-so much.”

And then Sherlock is coming, his body going taut in John's arms, and his mouth opens in a wordless cry as he paints their stomachs and John's hand with warm, sticky release, Sherlock's cock pulsing hard. John holds him tight, planting kisses wherever he can reach. Moments later, the body clenching down rhythmically on John's throbbing erection combined with the joy and awe of witnessing Sherlock's orgasm pushes the army doctor over the edge as well, his hips jerking into the tight heat of Sherlock's body over and over as he marks Sherlock's insides with waves of sticky love. 

He lets out a loud groan as he comes down from his high, letting the ghosts of Sherlock's orgasm wring the last few spurts of come from his still-twitching cock. He doesn't want to pull out yet, so he rolls them to their sides. 

Then he hears it, a sob, and he looks up to see a tear trail down a high cheekbone. 

“Sherlock?” John asks, nudging the detective to face him. 

“John.”

“Was it too much?”

“N-no, it was perfect. It's just- I just needed to say something… John, _thank you_.”

“Oh?”

“For letting me have this.”

“You silly thing,” John laughs, softly. “You're the genius and I'm the broken ex-soldier. It is me who should be doing the thanking.” He leans forward to kiss the tear away, gently unwrapping Sherlock's legs from around his waist and pulling out his now-softening cock. He doesn't pull away, not yet, twining their legs together to stay close for as long as they can. 

Sherlock is silent. John smiles, twining their hands, he kisses Sherlock once more. 

“Sherlock.. Alright, it's safe to say neither of us ever thought we could have this. We were both idiots, frankly, and could have saved us both a lot of heartache if we acted upon it earlier, but what we had to go through to get here, it's all worth it in the end, is it not?”

“But, John, are you sure you want this, with me?” Sherlock says, timidly. 

“I know all the good stuff about you, and the not-so-good stuff. I'm still here, aren't I?” John replies, sweeping a thumb across Sherlock's soft lips. “I'm here for as long as you'll have me.”

Sherlock's eyes crinkle in that way they do when he is utterly happy and his mouth twists in a sad smile. “John Watson, I love you.”

“And I, you. Never doubt us, alright love?” John whispers, nudging Sherlock forwards to kiss his mouth, his nose, each closed eyelid, his temples and finally, his forehead. The taller man melts under his affections, collapsing into a loose-limbed lump of consulting detective. 

“Ugh, sticky,” Sherlock winces, discovering the wet spot on their bellies. John laughs, grabbing a stray piece of clothing and wiping them down. He tosses it away and pulls the covers up and over, enveloping them both. They snuggle and kiss until the sounds of the city outside the flat dies down and they drift off to the reassuring sounds of their steady breaths.

**Author's Note:**

> Just realised I jumped POV after like 3 paragraphs, but what's done is done :p Soooooo, do let me know how I did, good or bad :)
> 
> -
> 
> [my tumblr](http://wtsnhlms.tumblr.com) <3 if you wanna say hi!


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